


When There is Nothing Left

by Emriel



Series: Taken [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Broken Harry, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Insanity, Isolation, M/M, Master/Pet, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:17:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/pseuds/Emriel
Summary: In his arms, Harry feels safe but he is equally afraid.





	When There is Nothing Left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yxonomei](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Yxonomei), [IceyGemini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceyGemini/gifts), [Shortboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortboi/gifts), [kurofu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/gifts).



> It was meant to be part of Fragments but as I started correcting spelling mistakes, I realized that I actually liked this fic a lot. It's so dreamy and hazy. When I was rereading this, I was like... it reminds me of Yxonomei and I'm an absolute fan of that author T ^ T. Where have you gone Yxonomei!!? If you are still alive and you're lurking there somewhere, this fic is for you <3
> 
> This is also for Minjain and Icey <3 Because lol, Minjain you said you'd be sad if I ended Taken :D Well, here's a short oneshot.  
> To Icey, cause you're always there and so supportive.
> 
> And to kurofu!!! because your prompt gift was amazing, I felt inspired to post something today.
> 
> <3 I love you all!
> 
> Also, unbeatead because all my works are currently unbetead. I'll return tomorrow to reread and correct the mistakes.
> 
> The change in present and past tense is intentional because it's meant to be disorenting. This story is short and sweet (at least in my eyes) and echoes a lot of the elements and plot devices in Taken already so it's probably very familiar and overused but I still love it.

What is true fear?

Harry asks himself a question that haunts his very being.

He thought he knew fear when he faced the Dark Lord for the first time as a mere child. The specter of a soul that possessed the body of Quirrel was worthy of a nightmare. It haunted his many nights, and for a time, he wondered if Voldemort would come back and reach for him from under the bed, like the boogeyman.

He did not tell anyone of this and pretended he was alright.

Harry thought he knew fear when he faced the Basilisk and when Tom Riddle, someone who could have been a friend said Ginny was dying because of him. Because Voldemort was his past, present and future.

Then Tom set the Basilisk on him without compunction.

The thought that he was so close to losing his best friend’s sister was an ever present threat but the jaws of the basilisk was another. He did not know where he pulled the strength from, but he mustered it enough to slay the damned Basilisk and kill the Dark Lord’s memory within a black leather diary with a fang. Harry thought he was going to die and if he was going to die, he might as well die trying.

But miraculously, he survived. Ginny was alive. All was good. But the bad memories just kept adding up. Those close calls that could have ended with his untimely death—

Harry thought he felt fear when the Dark Lord used his blood for the resurrection ritual. The Death Eaters were all around him. He knew he was surrounded. That there was no way back except if he had precious luck on his side.

If the portkey did not work, he would have been murdered by the Dark Lord. The man who wore the face of a snake with terrifying red eyes. Whose body was reformed from bones, a human hand and his blood. Whose touch was as painful as red hot iron poking through his skull.

The wizarding world would have known of his return if they saw his dead body. Instead of Cedric, sometimes Harry wished he died that night.

For the terrors kept coming.

Because that night, someone died for him. And he saw the ghosts of his parents, and if not for the dead, he wouldn't be breathing.

He hated how powerless he was... Especially when he lost his godfather. That night in the ministry, when he was foolish enough to believe the dreams sent to him by his enemy. When Voldemort possessed his body, and he thought they were one and the same.

His Gryffindor bravery held on. Just for a little bit. Just enough that he did not succumb to it even when Dumbledore finally told him of the real contents of the prophecy.

He made the difficult decision to face his destiny. For he could not reason with a madman and he wasn't selfish enough to run away to save his life.

When he fed Dumbledore the cursed water.

When the inferi dragged him to the depths of the inky black waters.

**But that was just the beginning.  
**

Because when Voldemort stormed Hogwarts along with his legion of Death Eaters and Harry was hidden under his invisibility cloak, Voldemort found him. He took the cloak away slowly and Harry could feel the poisonous glee with the connection he shared with the monster.

Albus Dumbledore died in front of his eyes.

Skeletal hands carressed his face, and there was a whisper of a threat. A promise.

_“I will break you, Harry Potter. Then you will be mine.”_

* * *

Harry finds himself trapped in a dark room. He can hear the shackles ring like tiny little bells with his every motion. He is comfortable... or as comfortable as one can be in a dark room with nothing but a soft warm bed and shackles on his ankles and wrist.

After awhile, Harry thinks nothing can get to him down there. That it's safe. There is no one.

He's alone.

He does not know how long time has passed and does not know why he lay forgotten in one dark room, unable to eat or drink anything yet is still alive.

It is as if he's stuck in a portion of eternity where all he can do is open and close his eyes, and move as far as the chains would let him go.

To face solitude was a fear that Harry could not deal with.

Any lesser man would have lost their minds and Harry is a child.

* * *

Harry did not do well with seeing dead people. They are everywhere in his dreams and sometimes ghosts of them visits him, whispering how he’s failed them. How he is useless. How he deserves to suffer for letting everyone down.

At first he tried talking to them, but soon, even his own voice failed him.

The sensation, the sound gone.

And even if he screamed, he could not hear it. The nothingness, endless.

Then the nightmares come and there is no one to calm him.

And if he cried, no one was there to wipe it. See it. Hear it. Feel it.

Forgotten.

When he knows that time is passing yet there is no indication that time does pass... he wonders. Why and where is he. Was he losing his mind?

Was he already dead?

* * *

Harry fears the day when a voice reaches out to him.

The voice is not his own. It is a voice of another and that means he is not alone.

Somewhere, someone is watching and laughing. It is the laughter that scares him. It is the fact that he can hear other voices that he swore wasn’t a mere part of his imagination.

“ _Let me in. Let me in my horcrux.”_

* * *

When the pain came... it was a blessing as much as it was a curse. He did not know if he was alive and the only way to prove it was to find sensation, to stop the numbness from spreading. To stop.

To stop.

* * *

and stop it did.

Everything

_went_

**down**

_the_

Drain

* * *

The child was placed in the middle of the bed. He was surrounded with pillows and one could hear the almost labored breathing.

It was like a ripened fruit for the taking. Feverish pale skin, and the darkest of hair, a stark contrast on his massive white bed.

A forked tongue swiped a taste, and pupils further turned into slits as the predator watched his prey.

So weak. So vulnerable. It was a preposterous that the fragile thing could ever pose a harm to him... but now that it was broken, what more could it do? Now that he reduced his once enemy into an entity that would cower at his voice.

He watched delightedly as the child opened his eyes. The shocking Avada green glinted against the moonlight. His eyes roved at the delightful form. ‘So innocent’.

Harry whimpered as the cold gust of wind entered the room. The child clutched the covers to himself and then, that was when the child gave a gasp of surprise when he looked at his wrist, possibly surprised that it did not have shackles. Wide green eyes looked around the room, so very afraid.

Harry was trembling.

“ _No… where am I?”_

He could read the child's mind even without having to enter it. He was always so easy to read.

...perhaps it was time to reveal himself.

“Finally awake, I see.”

* * *

Harry's head swiveled to one side of the room and saw the person responsible for everything, for his torment and isolation... for his suffering, Harry was scared and feebly tried to push himself away.

" _V-vol-d-eh-mort",_ Harry found himself whispering. Recognition in his eyes.

It was instinctive of him to feel fear. He tried to stand up, but found that in his sick state, he couldn't even move, much less do anything to stop the Dark Lord.

“Are you scared?”

Harry's only reaction was a nod, and a shameful tear. And another.

“I'll take that as a yes. Don't bother talking... you have not used your vocal cords in so long, you will only hurt yourself if you do so. You are very confused. Shh. I won't hurt you...”

Harry looked up, and he tried to turn his head away. Tried to imagine he wasn’t there. That he was far _far away_.

Voldemort was coming closer.

Harry could do nothing when Voldemort took both his hands on one hand and leaned over him to kiss his forehead.

“You've suffered enough. I've decided to spare you, Harry Potter. You will live if only for my amusement. We will have so much fun. Don't worry. I will take care of you.”

Harry could do nothing when a sibilant command was hissed, " _Sleep."_

And so he did.

* * *

Harry wondered what being a pet entailed. He felt better after the night's rest and it was only during morning that he could properly assess his room—or if it could be called a room.

It was a garden filled with white flowers. There was a bed in the middle and the sky was clear, and above, a glass ceiling only intertwined thick wires of serpent scales around the edges. Water flooded the floor when he set foot on it. The runes on the floor began to glow a soft golden color. Then.

Pain.

Harry collapsed on the ground. He clutched the flowers and crushed the petals in his hand.

The sound of doors opening and swift footsteps seemed like salvation.

“You poor thing.”

The Dark Lord picked the sweet little child and the overload of pain stopped. Harry found himself wrapped in a hug. He was limp in Voldemort's arms. All he could do was cry and whimper at how much it hurt. It felt like something was trying to claw its way out of his heart to no avail.

“Silly child. You need my permission to leave the bed. and you have not earned that yet. Well, perhaps there is no greater teacher than experience.” Voldemort sat on the bed and placed the child on his lap. Harry seemed to have calmed down and was sniffling a bit. With a wandless wave of a hand, both of them were both pristine and clean again.

Harry felt that being in Voldemort's arms was calming.

Like a feather that has yet to fall to the ground. And yet it was so soft, so silent. His mind. His thoughts. His body relaxing on its own accord.

“That's right little one, relax... stop thinking... let yourself go.”

Harry nodded. A large part of him was thankful for the reprieve, thankful that everything seemed so peaceful – so easy. He could surrender to this dream like world and no one would get mad at him. The nightmares were gone. The voices were quiet. He only wanted to please his _master_. The foreign thought should have bothered him a lot but at that moment, he dared not complain.

He knew that as much as the person could give him comfort, the same person could give him a world of pain as well.

He had no other choice but to submit.

As lips touched his, Harry responded to it, because it was like sweet ambrosia, like something he once cherished had returned to his side.

A gift. He did not deserve it.

“ _Harry, you are so beautiful. Let me have you. Let me in. I’ll have you screaming.”_

And Harry let him.

And he screamed.

Over.

And over.

Like a broken record.

Like a broken thing.

* * *

Harry felt fear like no other when he was with his master.

Frozen, he would let the man do as he pleases with him... and in tiny little stutters if he could at all, he would speak if it was required.

He knows what those fingers were capable of doing. He knows that countless have died with the man's word alone.

Voldemort fashions himself a god of the new age.

His god as well, and his master always tells him how he is the most beautiful _sacrifice_.

That someday, he might tire of him, and grant him the sweet reprieve of death.

Like today.

* * *

“mnnn nghhh... huu...” Harry stifled his cries but each knife that pierced his body hurt... and finally he came screaming when the knife penetrated his heart.

He was gifted a body that was more resilient but could still feel pain and for that it was a curse. And he thought maybe his master would finally grant him _freedom_ to die, and yet he took the knife away. Potions were shoved down his throat, and Severus Snape beside the Dark Lord gave him a look of pure sorrow as wizards set to the task of repairing his already broken body, only for the Dark Lord to start anew.

" _Please..."_

"Silence. You deserve this. Learn when to discard your insolence. I tire of it.”

But Harry could hardly reply. Could hardly speak, like his voice had been ripped apart by the pain and the thought that his master would never forgive him. Harry wasn't sure which hurt more.

“I shall punish you, until you learn this lesson of humility. I am your god. You bow down before me.”

Voldemort shows him no mercy, even when all he did was speak a word out of place. But he did it in front of his master's followers, and for that he deserved to be punished.

And his body is black and blue. His creamy skin covered with blood. Eyes shut tight, and yet tears still fell.

* * *

Voldemort watched his pet sleep for the first time in a week. The exhausted child could do nothing but gasp for breath. A fever assaulted the already frail boy... and it left the Dark Lord wondering if he was too cruel to the child.

The boy was his prisoner. His to punish, his to toy with.

And really, his pet could not fight back.

Harry was already terrified of him, to the point that he always freezes up within his presence.

However, the idea that Harry won't be able to get up from bed because of sheer exhaustion from his punishment and was utterly dependent on him to live spurned him further in the belief that what he was doing was right.

He built the cage for the beautiful raven and Harry will remain there for all eternity if he could help it.

* * *

When Harry woke up again, he woke up screaming. The same malevolent aura had saturated the room and there was nothing to stop it from hurting him.

He curled up into a ball and started crying.

The Dark Lord entered the garden and saw the state his pet was in.

“Harry, have I not told you that your punishment was over? I will not hurt you as long as you obey me. What is the need for such tears?”

Harry only whimpered in reply.

Voldemort sat on the bed and forced the child onto his lap.

“Come here, I’m not upset anymore. I know you will not do anything to further displease me. Let me soothe you.”

And Harry unfurled with those words alone. The boy came to him, a sobbing wreck. And Harry lay his head on his chest, just soaking in the alien peace he felt there.

The bond between them was placated.

“Master… please… don’t hurt me anymore. I’m sorry… so sorry,” Harry sobbed with his chin on his neck. "I won't... do it again."

Voldemort’s tone softened even further as he peeled away the clothes of his pet and stared at his masterpiece.

“I should take care of you better.” And with that, he wrapped his arms around the poor child, watching with bated breath as the boy could only wince in pain, and yet yearning still to be close to him.

Voldemort let his magic wrap around the boy and he watched how the child, too sensitive to power, started shivering in his arms. The method should have been reassuring however with his type of magic, all it did was fill the child with the suffocating need to submit.

Harry found his inhibitions lowered, and nothing stopped him from leaning on towards his master... needing the warmth and security that only his master could provide...

But it was stifling.

It made him tired. Like a fish floundering out of water when he only wanted to breathe.

Freedom, he desired it but Harry knew it would never be given, so he thought that maybe, this was enough.

Affection, he needed it... and he had it, but from such a monstrous man.

“Stop thinking pet... just feel.”

Harry made a small sound of acquiescence, and just let his master’s magic heal him. His tears stopped and a wave of drowsiness assaulted him.

Voldemort was unbearably gentle. As if none of the earlier pain and hurt ever happened. As if it was all one big bad dream, and Harry tried to believe that because his master would never hurt him.

He said so himself, many times.

* * *

Voldemort’s skin was pale, and it was filled with luminescent scales. It gleamed against the sun, the moonlight, and right now, the fireplace.

Harry was curled up against him, filled to the brim with his essence, so much so that it was leaking out of him.

Nagini was wrapped around his leg, and his master said, “ _You are precious to me, do you not know that?_ ”

Harry nodded weakly. He let his cheeks rest against the rug, sweat slicked hair damp against his master’s lipless mouth.

“Do you still think I’m a monster, Harry?”

And Harry wasn’t sure. What was a monster anyway?

“Ah… let us not have you think of complicated things… I know what is best for you, and no matter what you think of me, it will not change that you _are_ my pet… you are mine… and somewhere entwined in that innocent soul of yours is mine. No one else will have you.”

Harry simply closed his eyes and felt sorrow at this.

His thoughts were simple. Despite the pain, and despite his master’s rather mercurial moods, no one else has shown him care.

No one else held him like this.

Treated him as if he was precious.

And it was as close to _love_.

Acceptance.

And as he stared in those slit red eyes, something changed.

The Dark Lord gave him a ghost of a smile and leaned down for another kiss.

“You please me, my pet.”

* * *

**Pain...**

Like a needle poking through his skull.

Like the saw that hacked off his limbs.

Like an ever present hand trying to claw down his body.

Anger.

It echoed all around.

Consuming.

And he heard _his_ thoughts.

" _I'll kill them. I'll kill them. They will all suffer. Fools!"_

" _Harry."_

It was his name.

Harry curled in a tight ball when he felt his master's fury.

He whimpered at the slam of the door and shivered when the quilt wrapped around him was removed. “Your friends are here to pick you up. You must meet them, _hero_. Show them how much you've loved being in my care.”

Harry trembled and in sibilant words, because his vocal cords could not even rasp human words after his master played with him and plucked them little by little. “ _Master... I don't... want to see them... I don't want to leave you..._ ”

Harry collapsed on the bed and cried.

Voldemort pulled away and Harry left the bed, uncaring if the water drenched his feet.

Uncaring if the curse hurt him, even his body was still trying to recover from his master's punishment. Harry grit his teeth and bore the pain.

He reached out for his master, “ _Please don't be mad...? I love you… and I don’t… I won’t go... I don’t want to._ ”

Harry felt a hand tilt his chin.

The pain stopped.

There was only silence.

_The rage was snuffed out like a candle light._

Only twin heartbeats remained.

“Really now?”

“ _I need you… There is nothing left... please don’t let them take me._ ”

Harry sobbed, and his tears mixed with the blood of his lips, leaving a red trail on its wake.

“Little one, there is but one thing I desire from you... your love for me. Prove it.”

* * *

Harry was curled upon the throne. Shackles upon his bleeding wrists. Crying. Naked underneath the Dark Lord's cloak. The Dark Mark etched upon his back with an obsidian knife.

It hurt.

His body showed traces of abuse all over.

He tried to tell himself that he was okay.

And then they came.

His friends, relieved, and smiling as they finally reached him and pulled him into safety.

Like ghosts. They reached for him, and their voices echoed, " _Look at what's become of him. He is useless. Vermin. Filth. Freak."_

"Harry, don't you recognize me? It's me, Hermione! We've come to get you! Please." _  
_

Harry started screaming for his master. Protesting wildly, uncaring if their hands bruised him. He scratched and kicked and crawled away.

“ _Let me go. I don’t want to go with you. Please… Please master. Please don’t let them take me! Don’t leave me,"_  he kept hissing.

Harry’s magic rose and pushed away Ron, Hermione and what remained of the Order of the Phoenix. They looked betrayed and said words he could hardly understand. He curled up and tried to desperately wish he was safe and for his master to return and take him back into his garden.

Back to where it was _safe_.

“Harry, I know you don’t want this right now, but we’re here to save you."

All he could hear was noise.

"Master... _master... please... come back."_

"We’ve tried to search all over for you and now that we have you, we’re not just going to give up.”

**“Come with us, or we’ll have to use force.”**

_"No... No... Leave me alone,"_  Harry tried saying, but all that came out was a sibilant hiss of parseltongue.

Monsters were coming to get him. They were going to take him away from the only home he ever had. They'll hurt him.

“We don’t have much time.”

And Harry rasped a weak “No.”

He saw his friend's crestfallen faces, just like the thousands before her did. And Harry pretended not to see. He was blind. He was elsewhere. He wished they were gone.

They started casting spells, and they made him wear a necklace. He was shaking when they mouthed words and as they cursed, Harry simply curled up.

The Dark Lord’s throne room was still empty.

Harry felt abandoned. He stilled prayed hard. He felt so lost. 'Please don't leave me...'

He never felt so lost before.

"Just stupefy him already."

"He's in shock. Don't you see?"

If his master abandoned him...

Then there was nothing left.

Screeching like metal breaks on a rusty train track, he thought. _'I'd rather die.'_

These thoughts pervaded his mind as he kept sobbing and he slapped the hand that dared touch him, crawling away to press his face against his master’s throne.

And his magic rose to his command, a green mist spreading around him.

* * *

 

**_That's enough, child. There is no need for you to take your life when you have me._ **

And then, Harry smiled and look upwards as a shadowy form appeared and wrapped itself around him.

“ _So loyal to me, my pet. I’ve seen it in your mind, and I know this has been a harrowing experience for you. Let me deal with these infidels.”_

When the Dark Lord slaughtered his friends, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. They were illusions of his mind and he only wished to love his master.

Nothing else.

Nothing more.

* * *

Voldemort grinned as he traced the lips. Harry quivered below him but those verdant eyes stared with absolute need.

“You belong to me… you know that now, don’t you?”

Harry scrunched his eyes shut as the Dark Lord pulled out. The loss was immediate and he almost sobbed at the emptiness, wishing that maybe they could stay intertwined.

His body was sore. His insides more so. Harry stared at the red eyes of his saviour, and memorizing the upward tilt of that mouth. And Harry found himself doing the same, inhaling the sweet musky air and trying to catch his breath.

For a moment, they were content to gaze at each other until Harry reached up and whispered, _“Master… hold me? Please…”_

Voldemort felt smug, “Who would have thought the boy-who-lived would turn into such a loyal pet... I suppose you deserve it, little one. I scared you yet again.”

Harry just wanted to cry at the memory. “ _Please… don’t do it again… master. Please stay with me.”_

Voldemort sighed, and pressed his pet closer. He truly had gone soft this time.

“Never again, Harry.”

Harry relaxed in his arms, and relief flowed through the bond, like warm honey. Sickly sweet.

“ _I love you.”_

And just like that, Harry slept. The forever sixteen-year-old, a waifish thing only begging for his affection. He already eliminated all those who wanted to take him down within Britain, and no one cared for the boy outside of the country. He had no further need for Harry other than to house the small piteous amount of soul that might not even be enough to tether him to the world should he need it.

And yet. He could not kill him.

‘So precious.’

Voldemort pressed a kiss to the boy’s temple and smiled.

The Dark Lord thought to himself that perhaps he did not deserve Harry Potter’s pure heart, but he had it and he was going to keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still in an on and off hiatus since I'm building my site, and just taking it easy but I guess I really can't stay away from writing and I shouldn't do self-imposed breaks. But a few sad things happened lately and I just wanted a mini break. I'll still write though :D


End file.
